Every Rose Has Its Thorn
by Mistress of Horror 1999
Summary: "Here you have a fragile mind and an unstable mind. The two of them came together. It only took one of them to cause the other one's demise. In the end, though, you need to understand that both of them were responsible for what happened." Contains violence, death, sexual references, smoking, and mentions of suicide and self-harm - all involving teens.
1. Prologue: The Project for Film Class

**_The story you are about to read is for entertainment purposes only. This was inspired by events that teenagers face every day, from then and now. It is not intended to encourage violent acts or to "glorify" murder. This has also been loosely inspired by the film "Natural Born Killers" and a history of violence that my country, America, has faced, primarily some school shootings. If you feel triggered by any violence, abuse, or self-harm...then please read something else. I promise this story will get better as it progresses._**

 ** _Enjoy._**

 **Prologue: The Project for Film Class**

The screen was blue. Twenty seconds later a small horizontal triangle appeared at the top right corner, signaling that the tape was ready to play. The screen flickered once and then went black. A wave of static flashed briefly. A new color of blue was shown: the sky. The aim was then lowered down to the grass, dead in whatever glory it had left; it was winter. The person who was holding the camera didn't have a steady hand. There was no sound from the video.

 _A sudden cut to black._

When the next scene came up the quality was better. Whoever was watching this was greeted by a boy in the hallway of what appeared to be a high school. Behind him was a row of beige lockers that trailed all the way from one end of the hall to the other. What you would see then (the immediate attention-grabber) was that the boy's face was blurred out by pixels, as to protect his identity. He appeared gawky and was fairly short. A faded Yankees logo on his baggy white shirt that must've been at least two sizes too large. You couldn't tell if he was smiling, frowning or just standing there like a damn idiot.

" _I'm getting bullied, and it really sucks. I need some help!"_

There was something off about the way he said this. His voice reached a high pitch, and he didn't sound serious. That's when you realize… this was just bad acting on purpose. He was being the stereotypical "loser nerd."

The boy turned his head to the right and pointed down the hall.

" _Oh my God!"_

The camera turned to face the end of the hallway. After a few seconds of silence with the camera slightly shaking, two figures turned the corner. They were wearing trenchcoats and army boots. There was a small figure, a female, who no taller than 5'7". The one next to her was a boy, approximately 6'2". They took their time walking. As they grew closer you saw black sunglasses covering their eyes. The boy with the pixelated face watched carefully; based on his posture, he looked slightly intimidated.

Soon they were standing in front of him. Hands in the pockets of their trenchcoats. The taller boy adjusted his glasses.

" _We'll help you out," the girl says, barely audible._

" _Yeah," the boy piped up. "But it'll cost you…"_

 _The nerd claps his hands together. "Anything!"_

 _The girl looks at the camera, briefly breaking character. She then looks up at her partner and back at the nerd. "Okay. Here's the thing: we can't shoot them on school grounds. But they'll be out of your hair when we're done with 'em."_

 _The tall one stands still, glancing over the situation. "Our fee is six hundred dollars per bully. Cash only. And you have to pay us in advance."_

 _The nerd nods. "Absolutely!"_

 _The girl smiles. "Great. We'll be in touch."_

The pair turned to face away from the camera and started walking back in the direction in which they came from. The camera zooms in on the boy's back and the quality goes blurry for a split second. It pans over to the girl. The cameraman zooms out, catching them both in the same frame. As they did before, the pair take their time walking. They turn the corner and disappear.

 _The screen cuts to black again._

When the next scene appeared, a date was finally visible on the lower right corner: _December 10, 1996._ The sunlight was slightly peeking from the clouds; leftover bits of snow covered the pavement. They were in a parking lot this time- one can only assume that it was the parking lot of the school. The girl appeared on camera first, propping herself up on the trunk of a black Toyota. Hands still in her pocket, she was facing away from the camera. Trench coat still on.

" _So what we got here is a couple of pricks who just couldn't leave [name bleeped out] alone," she says in monotone. "I hate pricks. That's why I took this job." She takes her hands out of her pockets. "[name bleeped out] paid us eighteen hundred dollars to kill these assholes. That's six hundred dollars per douchebag. Pretty sure he gave us all his life savings…"_

She bites her lip, and you can tell she's trying not to laugh. She wasn't a professional actor. She was just a teenager. The camera cuts; apparently she wanted a redo. The scene repeats itself.

" _That's six hundred dollars per douchebag. Pretty sure he gave us all his life savings. It's a pity. He seems like a good kid, but that's what also makes him an easy target."_

The next scene showed the boy standing by the car, lighting a cigarette. He was without his trench coat this time but he still had on the sunglasses.

" _When we first started with our services, we thought maybe… like, just stabbing these pricks to death. But guns are easier. If they run you can still get 'em. Doesn't matter what size the gun is; if it works, it works."_

The audio cuts out after that. The boy is still talking but there's no sound. At one moment he also looks like he's about to laugh, however, he does a better job of hiding it. (In the years that followed, after these tapes were released, many have tried but failed to find the original audio.) The two of them appear onscreen again, side by side facing the camera. There's still no sound. At one point she looks up at him and appears to ask a question. He seems to respond with no, since he's seen shaking his head. They get into the black Toyota and, as they drive off, the camera glitches again with slight static.

 _The screen cuts to black._

A boy is seen walking down the sidewalk in an average neighborhood. The two ambush him as they emerge from behind a tree. They're holding fake guns, obviously, and the only sound that's heard in this scene (other than the birds chirping and some children playing in the distance) is the _popping_ noise that's made when they squeeze the triggers. The boy who's "shot" has his face blurred with pixels, just like the nerd, and he lets out a forced cry of pain as he falls to the ground. The camera zooms in on his lifeless body, although you seem him move slightly.

The boy and girl give each other a high-five and get back in their car.

 _The screen cuts to black._

In the second to last piece of this footage, the camera opens to the boy. He's still wearing that damn trench coat except now the buttons are undone, revealing a dark green tee-shirt underneath with some sort of yellow printed on it. His sunglasses are off. He seems to be talking to himself, trying to remember his lines.

 _The girl's voice from behind the camera says: "Butch, are you ready now?"_

 _He looks up. "Yeah… just keep recording. I got this."_

 _He takes a deep breath and begins to scream at the camera. "No, you goddamn piece of bitch-ass shit… do NOT….." He bursts into laughter, unable to take himself seriously._

 _The camera cuts and he's given a second chance to do the scene over. "No, you goddamn piece of punk-ass shit… do NOT mess with that friggin' kid! If you do, I'll rip of your…. bahahaha!"_

The girl laughs with him this time. The camera cuts off for a moment; they must've been getting themselves together because they'd been laughing pretty hard. The third and final try is when he nails it.

" _No, you goddamn piece of punk-ass shit… do NOT mess with that friggin' kid! If you do, I'll rip off your goddamn head… and shove it so FAR up your friggin' ass… YOU'LL BE COUGHING UP DANDRUFF FOR FOUR FRIGGIN' MONTHS!"_

The camera cuts to the girl. Her black hair hangs loose down her shoulders. She, too, has decided to keep her trench coat on, but to unbutton it. She reaches into the bookbag down at her feet and pulls out a small compact mirror.

 _The boy laughs. "What are you doing, Butterbutt?"_

 _She rolls her eyes. "I think I have a zit…"_

" _You look fine. Come on. This is due for class on Friday and it's gonna take me a while to edit it."_

 _She sighs and puts the mirror up. "Alright."_

" _Take your sunglasses off." She takes them off and hands them to him. "Ready?"_

" _Yeah…"_

" _And…. action!"_

 _She explodes at the camera. "Look, I don't care WHAT you say… if you ever touch him again, I will friggin' kill you! I'm gonna pull out a goddamn shotgun and blow your damn head off… do you understand? YOU LITTLE WORTHLESS PIECE OF CRAP!"_

 _The camera cuts off._

The last bit of footage is what everyone flocks around for today. The two are shown in the school, standing by the doors of the library. They have their signature trench coats on; the girl is wearing a backwards baseball cap; neither of them have sunglasses; a few students with their faces blurred walk by before the scene starts, despite the camera already recording.

The nerd from before reappears. He looks at the camera and then looks at the pair.

" _Thank you guys so much," he says in a shrill, fake voice. "You saved my life!" The two nod at him and he walks out of the shot._

The cameraman zooms in on the two.

 _The girl looks at the boy and she says: "You know what? That nerd's getting pretty annoying."_

 _The boy nods. "Yeah. Should we kill him, Buttercup?"_

 _She chuckles and responds with: "No doubt."_

They walk out of the shot, following the nerd. You hear the nerd shriek. That's where it stops. The footage ends with white text popping up that says "PROPERTY OF THE TOWNSVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT - CASE 918."


	2. Chapter One: Junior Year

_**Hi guys. Before we start the story, yes, I published this well over a year ago and sort of forgot about it. After realizing the many mistakes with the first attempt, I took the story ("Rage") down. I realized it wasn't going to work as well as I thought when writing the events out of order and letting the reader put them together; heck, I gave myself a headache. So without further ado, I present to you "Every Rose Has Its Thorn." This story contains some strong adult themes (nothing too extreme to earn an M Rating) and deals heavily at some parts with the topics of suicide and self-harm, particularly among teens. (I encourage you not to read this story if you are currently dealing with, or triggered by, such things. However, if you still want to read this, I will put a TRIGGER WARNING at the beginning for each chapter that contains said content.) Enjoy!**_

 **Chapter One: Junior Year**

" _ **Be careful with whom you trust; the Devil was once an angel."**_

 **-Anonymous**

It's May of 1996. The location: Townsville, Idaho; located forty miles west of Boise. A teenager's murderous, violence-filled fantasy is beginning to take shape.

 _Sometime, maybe in May of next year, B and I will get revenge, and kick natural selection up a few notches. If we can learn the art of making timebombs properly, we'll set hundreds of them across roads, railways, and bridges… at this point I'm just thinking of any busy place that can cause mass destruction if one were to go off. God, I can just imagine it now. Bigger than the LA Riots, the Oklahoma bombing, WWII, Vietnam…. all mixed together...I'm hoping to aim for quantity over quality, actually. I just wanna kill so many. I wanna leave a lasting impression on the world._

One year later, on May 16, 1997, Butch "Jojo" Jones and another Bridgeview student, Clarissa Uto [yoo-toe] (nicknamed "Buttercup" by her family) committed the worst high school massacre in American history. They killed thirteen students, two teachers, injured twenty-six others, and then turned the guns on themselves. This story is compiled of eyewitness accounts from friends, students, and police investigators. As the years have passed, new information about the attack and the events leading up to it has been released. Following these terrible details, it's possible to reconstruct the history of Bridgeview High and the freakish whirlwind on circumstances that led with two teenagers committing mass murder.

 **Monday, August 28, 1995 - First Day of School: Junior Year**

Butch woke up facing the large ceiling-to-floor window on the left side of his bed. He mentally groaned, knowing he only had a certain amount of time to get ready. He sat up in bed. The alarm clock read 6:35 a.m. The sky was still dark but the sun would be rising momentarily.

 _Can't believe summer just went by like that_ , he thought. _Oh well…_

Before he could do anything else, the sound of someone running up the stairs made him turn his attention towards the door, slightly ajar. It was Boomer, and, despite not turning on his lamp, Butch could tell from the light in the hallway that he was already dressed and groomed for his first day of eighth grade. "Butch," he said quietly. "Mom made French toast and bacon. But I ate most of it already." He did a big, goofy grin, baring his braces. "So get your ass downstairs!" Boomer laughed and hurried off. Although he was tired as shit, Butch rolled his eyes and stood up to stretch.

Across town, Clarissa (or "Buttercup," as most people had called her since childhood) was already awake, washing her face in the bathroom that she shared with her younger sisters, twins Bethany and Bianca. Her older sister, Blossom, was already out of the house for college. If anything, Buttercup wanted to trade places with her; anything was better than sharing a bathroom with two ten-year-olds. Brushing her teeth, she looked at herself in the mirror-messy black hair that was down to her shoulders, puffy bags under her unique green eyes, and a hole ripped on the side of her navy sweatpants she used occasionally for pajama bottoms (to be fair, they were a hand-me-down from Blossom). Buttercup patted her face dry. She was about to brush her teeth when someone knocked. "Buttercup!"

"Huh? What!"

It was her mother. "Dad had to go in early for work today. I'm gonna need you to take the girls to school. I'd take them but I need to go in early myself for a meeting."

That was the last thing she wanted to do. Still tired, and her voice almost hoarse, she replied with: "Ugh! I thought they were riding the bus to school! What gives?"

"The school told me that a bus can't come by our neighborhood anymore; county-funding was cut short and I don't feel comfortable with them walking almost a mile to the next bus stop that's available. Just do as I say for now and I'll drive them for the rest of the year."

Buttercup scowled at the door. "Okay…"

"Love you!"

"Yeah, love you, too."

An excerpt from _Murder In The Classroom: The Tragedy at Bridgeview High_ by Raphael Erickson, published in June 2010.

 _To provide a bit of insight, a mass murderer doesn't wake up one day and decide to shoot into a crowd of people. They plan their attack(s) over time. Based on journal entries from Butch Jones and Clarissa Uto, that's the case with Bridgeview High._

 _Butch Anthony Jones was born on February 12, 1979 in Meridian, Idaho to parents Randy and Cecelia Jones (nee Larson). He grew up with an older half-brother, Brick (b. 1973), from his father's previous relationship and a younger (full) brother, Boomer (b. 1982). In 1987, Randy gained full-custody of his first child and relocated the family to a larger home in Townsville, three hours away from Meridian. They purchased a four-bedroom, three-bath home on Foothill Drive, located in an upper-class suburb called Crestmont Park. To neighbors, they were an ideal family: stay-at-home mom, hard working father, and three sons who were destined to go on and achieve great things. Butch attended Cliff Ridge Elementary for for three years and then transitioned to Westley Middle School, where he met Clarissa Uto in the seventh grade._

 _Now we want to make clear that most school shooters act alone-well over ninety-five percent of the time, according to research by the FBI. Ninety-seven percent of school shooters and mass murderers are male; the remaining three percent for females almost seems unreal. When you turn on CNN or another news network and they're providing coverage of a mass shooting, you tend to see a male...a male described as "angry at the world" or "had a history of mental issues." On rare occasions we've seen female shooters, such as Brenda Spencer or Jennifer San Marco. When it comes to Clarissa Uto, she came long-after Spencer but well before San Marco. All in all, Uto was unique in her own way._

Butch came downstairs in a black Bridgeview High sweatshirt that read "GO WOLVES!" on the back. Boomer was at the table, finishing a glass of orange juice. Their mother was by the stove, making Butch's plate.

"I don't want much, Mom," he said, taking a seat across from his brother. She sat his plate down in front of him.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said, giving a small smile. She smiled back and kissed him on top of his head. This was a usual thing that occurred between them, since Butch had hit a massive growth spurt in the last few months and sprouted to be almost six foot two (at only sixteen, mind you); Mrs. Jones would joke that she could no longer properly kiss her "oldest baby" since he was taller than her now-and if she wanted to kiss his head, Butch would have to be sitting down. So that's what they did.

"Boomer," she said, grabbing her purse and coat to leave for work at the hospital. "The bus comes at seven o'clock. Do _not_ miss it." She raised an eyebrow at her youngest boy and walked down the three steps to the garage. They heard her car start and the garage door open.

Sunlight began to peek through the window above the sink. Butch quickly finished his last bite of French toast. Boomer said a quick goodbye and left out the front door. Butch went back upstairs to brush his teeth and comb his hair properly. Halfway up, he realized he forgot to call Mitch the night prior to ask for a ride. Instead of the bathroom, he went back to his bedroom. There was a white phone on his bedside table. (Over the summer, Butch was finally allowed to have a phone in his room as long as he promised his parents he wouldn't rack up a huge phone bill.)

Remembering the number by heart, he dialed Mitch. A click was heard on the other end. "Hello?" Mitch sounded tired, probably just now waking up.

"Hey, Mitch. It's Butch. Um… I meant to call last night but I need a ride to school."

"Fuck!" Mitch said, checking the clock. "I'm running late myself. Why don't you call Buttercup? She got her license over the summer."

Butch thanked him and hung up. He pulled a notepad out from his desk drawer; he used it for small reminders, friend's numbers, and mental notes to himself. Flipping through after a minute, he found the number he was look for right under CLARISSA.

Buttercup was making sure the girls were dressed and ready when the home phone rang. She sprinted downstairs to her dad's home office. She checked the caller ID. It was unfamiliar to her but she answered anyway. "Hello…?"

"Hey, Buttercup." She felt a sense of relief knowing it was Butch. "I'm sorry to put this on you but I need a ride to school. I'll pay you money for gas."

Buttercup sighed. But he was one of her closest friends, so why not? "Yeah, um, I'll be there in fifteen minutes. My sisters will be joining us, unfortunately."

"That's fine." He didn't care. "I'll be out front. It's the last house on the end of Foothill."

"I remember," she said quietly. "Okay, we'll I gotta finish getting ready. See ya soon."

They both hung up without saying goodbye. Butch brushed his teeth and packed the supplies he needed in his backpack. He grabbed his school schedule off the fridge and tossed an apple and yogurt cup into a brown paper bag, knowing he could buy something from the cafeteria if it wasn't enough. Butch locked the door and walked down the driveway, sitting on the edge of the lawn so Buttercup could see him when she got close. No more than two minutes later did he see her black '89 BMW pulling up. She rolled down the passenger window.

"Hey, Butch. Put your bag in the trunk."

The drive was only ten minutes to the elementary school to drop the twins off. But it felt like an eternity for Butch every time they got behind a slow car or reached a stoplight. Long drives made him anxious, but nobody, not even his parents, knew that.

"You okay man?" Buttercup asked as they turned into Cliff Ridge Elementary. "You were a chatterbox over the summer."

Butch shrugged. "Just tired, I guess," he said, not making eye contact. "I've been tired the last few days. I don't know why…."

"Probably just the junior year blues," Buttercup joked, piping up a small laugh. "You'll be fine by Friday."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

The pulled up to the front of the school. Buttercup unlocked the doors and the twins got out. "Bye guys. Have a good first day. Just think, next year you'll be in middle school."

Bianca giggled and Bethany stuck out her tongue. They tanked their older sister for the ride and got out. Buttercup made sure a teacher held open the door for them and they got in safely. The two teens pulled off towards their own school.

"They've matured," Butch said, trying to start a conversation.

"Not really," Buttercup laughed. "Bethany still believes in unicorns and Bianca still can't make her own toast-well, she gets me to make it for her, at least. They still smell sometimes, too."

"What kids don't smell?" Butch said, cracking a smile to distract himself from an upcoming stoplight. For the first time since the summer, they laughed together.

The first thing you should know, Bridgeview High School was _huge_. The student enrollment was close to 1,250. They had an auditorium twice the size of where you'd sit to watch movies at a theatre. Among this, other things you'd find at most high schools: a football field, softball field, bus lot, student parking, gymnasium, etc. Hell, the cafeteria was big enough to hold _all_ of the students (despite this, there was still two different lunch periods). There were three levels in the school: art-related classes, the gym, the auditorium, and the cafeteria were on the bottom floor; second floor housed freshman and sophomore classes, as well as the library; the top floor held junior and senior classes. It might as well have been a college.

Butch and Buttercup both started there as freshmen, along with most of their friends. Bridgeview, as big as it was, was open to any student from any background; a common misconception was that is was "mostly for rich kids". Teenagers who came from upper-class backgrounds, like Butch, went to Bridgeview but you still had those who chose to go to Davidson Academy, to focus primarily on academics and get into an expensive college. Nevertheless, anyone was welcomed at Bridgeview.

Another excerpt from _Murder In The Classroom: The Tragedy at Bridgeview High_

 _Clarissa Anne "Buttercup" Uto was born on April 6, 1979 in Denver, Colorado to James and Louisa Uto (nee Richardson). Her paternal great-grandfather was from Japan and married an American woman in the early 20th century, given her rare and "unusual" last name: Uto. Looking at pictures of Clarissa back then, you wouldn't even guess that she was one-eighth Japanese._

 _Uto's upbringing was different from Jones'. She moved around a lot as a kid, with her family eventually settling down in Townsville, Idaho in 1988. Before this, she had lived in Colorado (2 years), Nebraska (3 years), Kansas (2 years) and Wyoming (3 years). Her father was an air force pilot and this was why the family never had, as most would say, a "permanent home" until Idaho; they moved around a lot, but in 1988 James retired. Her mother, Louisa, was a caterer and decided to open a bakery (Louisa's Sweet House) with her life savings in 1990 in downtown Townsville. Uto was the second of four children; she had an older sister Cecilia [nicknamed "Blossom"] (b. 1977) and younger twin sisters, Bethany and Bianca (b. 1985)._

 _The Uto family was described as "working, middle-class." According to sources close to the two teens, it was never a competition of who's family was "more wealthy" or who had more privilege growing up. Butch never bragged about his large, luxurious home that most kids would envy. Clarissa never complained about her mother working long hours to support the family at the bakery. They treated each other the same. Almost like they both had the same life story to share and relate to._

Buttercup pulled into the parking space. It was her first year driving to school and she was relieved to find a space close to the building; she hated long walks. The two teens got out and fetched their backpacks from the trunk. As they made their way to the front entrance, a paper taped on the window of the door read JUNIORS & SENIORS REPORT TO THE GYMNASIUM. A paper underneath read FRESHMEN & SOPHOMORES REPORT TO THE AUDITORIUM.

Along the fair walk to the gym, Butch and Buttercup ran into Mitch Mitchelson, a longtime acquaintance. He had shaggy brown hair that went down to his ears. His teeth were yellow since he'd been smoking cigarettes for the last three years. Today he was wearing a baggy gray AC/DC shirt and biker jeans. His sneakers were worn out and filthy. Getting closer, you could smell the tobacco on him-but both teens were used to the stench by now.

"Butters," Mitch teased as he saw Clarissa. "What's new?" He turned to Butch. "Butch! 'Sup bro?" They did a fist punch and laughed.

The three of them took seats on the bleachers and waited for everyone else to sit. Ten minutes later a well-groomed man in a business suit walked in. He went to the podium placed in the middle of the basketball court . A few teachers waved their hands, ordering the students to be quiet. Silence grew.

Speaking into the microphone, he said: "Welcome students! In just a moment you'll all be going to your first period class, but I wanna welcome all you juniors and seniors to a new year here at Bridgeview High!"

The audience erupted in applause and a few boys whistled.

"A great way to start off the '95-'96 school year is a pep rally! We'll be having one after second lunch this Friday. I encourage you all to come! If you're new, I hope you've already taken in some of Bridgeview's beauty. We have plenty to offer. My name is Luis Cruz. I've been the principal here for the last six years and I've enjoyed every year of it!"

More applause. Buttercup rolled her eyes. _Just wait and see how he really is_ , she thought. _By next week he'll be writing up suspension slips for ditching. He's just like the uptight teachers in this shithole. He doesn't care about your happiness or anything-_

Her thoughts were interrupted. "We have some new staff joining us as well!"

Buttercup turned to Butch. "I bet we could just leave right now and nobody would stop us."

He nodded. "Yeah, you're right. But Coach Baker is blocking the entrance. I don't wanna take any chances."

"What? You're a goody-goody now?"

"N-No," Butch stammered. "I mean, I don't wanna argue with him on the first day of school and get written up for finding this assembly boring as shit."

Buttercup smirked. "Good. That's the Butch Jones that I know."

Mitch jumped in. "You guys goin' to class early? Hell, I'll go with you. I don't give a shit what that old fuck is saying."

"Let's just stay," Butch said quickly. "It should be over in a minute." He didn't feel like getting into a sticky situation on the first day. But at the same time he didn't wanna seem like a "goody-goody," as Buttercup had called him. His stomach sank at the thought of getting into an argument with Coach Baker and not being able to control himself… or worse… breaking down. Ever since sophomore year ended he'd been emotional for almost no reason and-

"Butch!"

He looked up at Buttercup.

"He's done speaking. Let's go."

Mitch had already sped out of the gym like a bat out of hell, leaving the two of them behind. Butch said goodbye to Buttercup they parted ways to different classes. Butch's schedule said he had Chemistry for Period One. He walked into Room C-302. The teacher was at the door greeting students. Butch took a seat at a table by the window. The sun was out now, peaking through the clouds. Light from the window hit his back, providing a sense of warmth. The rest of the class filed in.

As best as he could, Butch couldn't concentrate. Science had always been his favorite subject. So why couldn't he listen? He enjoyed Biology last year and Earth & Environmental the previous year…. He shook his head, trying to clear out bad thoughts. He kept thinking about what Buttercup had said. Even as he was writing down notes, nothing positive was going through his mind. _What? Are you a goody-goody now?_ He looked up. It sounded as if she was in the room with him. Butch bit his lip and tugged at his pant leg. "I must be losing my mind," he muttered to himself.

 _He's done speaking. Let's go._ She had sounded angry at him. Oh great, would she never let him live that down? What was this? ADHD? Paranoia-?

 _No, Butch! Stop!_ he told himself. _The doctor said it was just anxiety. Everyone gets it. Just get through the rest of class and you'll be fine._

The bell rang. Butch looked down. Only half a page of notes. Shit. Had he been lost in thought this whole time? He took a deep breath and told himself to calm down. His schedule said that his next class was Honors English III.


End file.
